


The List

by WetSammyWinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dark Dean Winchester, Gen, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 19:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8545714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WetSammyWinchester/pseuds/WetSammyWinchester
Summary: The one in which Dean is Arya Stark, and Roy and Walt get what they deserve.





	

Dean sets his coffee cup down on the diner table and flicks at the corner of the list. The notepaper is yellow with age and the names on it are printed in different colored pens, a written history of terrible moments in their lives.

Every Sunday morning, he pulls it from his wallet and repeats the names, running his finger over the ones marked off and lingering over the ones that remain. Dean may not go to church but this is his prayer, his ritual, his rosary.

As Sam walks back to the table, Dean slips the list back in his wallet and smiles up at his brother. “Ready to hit the road?”

Sam nods and throws a few dollars on the table, leaving an extra five for the waitress, and Dean shakes his head. She spilled hot coffee on Sam’s arm, burned his toast, told a sad story about a sick dog, and still his brother gives her a big tip and a dimpled smile. For someone who kills things for a living, Sam’s heart is too big, like the blue Montana sky over their heads.

Dean doesn’t have that problem. The only thing his heart beats softly for is Sam. He chews on his anger like a rare steak, and follows it down with the fine wine of revenge. He may have to wait a few years to sit at the table for that meal, but he will relish every bite.

“So, you’ll pick me up later from the library?”

The case they’re chasing is thin—far from the Leviathan threat—but it has just enough meat to keep Sam engaged for several hours at the local library, researching the history of a building in the area, while Dean “interviews” witnesses the next county over.

“You know what?” Dean says suddenly. “These interviews might run long. Why don’t you head back to the motel afterwards, and I’ll meet you there tonight?” 

Sam grunts his approval as he gathers his laptop bag. The two of them have a easy rhythm between them nowadays, a trust over the division of duties, with no questions asked. Dean hates to betray that trust, but knows there’s nothing to be done about it.

He guns the Impala’s engine as he pulls away from the curb, an eagerness taking hold, the type of adrenaline high he gets right before they head into a fight. He’s waited two years for this, for the stars to align and their paths to cross, and thanks to a phone call from Rufus, he knows exactly where the hunters will be and at what time.

Sixty miles away, he pulls into a deserted parking lot. The only other vehicle is a beat-up Jeep Cherokee with fog lights, a winch on the front bumper, a pack of Kleenex on the dash, and empty Taco Bell bags on the floor. 

Dean doubts that would have been their first choice for a last meal.

The Impala’s trunk holds a lot of weapons, but he only grabs rope, a shiny silver scalpel, and a handheld tranquilizer gun—after all, he wants to keep this prey alive. At least for awhile.  
In the end, it doesn’t last long. Not as long as he wanted it to. These two deserved more time under the attention of Alastair’s star pupil, but he doesn’t have the luxury of time. Sam is waiting for him back at the motel, and Sam always comes first.

The two hunters had been tough, but as Dean started to cut, all of their redneck bravado had fallen away, leaving only cries and curses. The bigger man, the one who pulled the trigger two years ago— _the one who killed Sam_ —refused to ask for forgiveness, and that was smart. He knew that Dean would never forgive, and Sam wasn’t there. His brother would have found a way to move past the ugliness, to put a spin on the inexcusable, to let the people who hurt him walk away. 

But to Dean, there is no forgiveness for cold-blooded murder, except to answer it in blood, the only satisfaction being the slow inevitable drip of it on a concrete floor. 

He thinks about taking the bodies up into the hills and leaving them for the coyotes to mark their bones. But in the end a little salt, a can of gasoline, and Dean’s common sense take care of it.

Ninety minutes later, he unlocks the motel room door and is greeted by a pair of worried hazel eyes.

“I tried to reach you. What happened?”

Dean balances pizza boxes and a cold six-pack of beer in his hands, giving his brother a guileless smile. “Only good things, Sammy.” It’s amazing the lies Dean can get away with, when justice and revenge for his brother are on the line. “Except the witnesses were a bust, and Bobby called. Wants our help with a bigger case out in Oregon. For now, we have the night off and I want to celebrate.”

Sam’s eyes narrow as he takes the pizza and sets it down on the table. “Not much to celebrate about a two-day drive that resulted in nothing.”

Dean clasps his brother’s shoulder. “You, me, pizza, beer. What more could you want?” He walks towards the wooden desk in the corner of the room, and pulls out his wallet from the inside jacket pocket. “Why don’t you serve us up, while I finish up my notes?”

He slips the yellowed paper out and crosses through two more names.

 ~~YELLOW-EYES~~  
 GORDON   
REGGIE  
 TIM   
~~ROY~~  
WALT   
CROWLEY   
~~SAMUEL~~

_Five years later and Dean still pulls out the note paper every Sunday. Some names remain and today another one joins the list._

TONI


End file.
